


Hunky-Dory

by iolanthe_rosa



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-23
Updated: 2004-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iolanthe_rosa/pseuds/iolanthe_rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fetishes are good for the soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunky-Dory

They were both nervous.

Elijah was comfortable meeting actors. For him acting was a job, and he was able to see other actors, even great ones, as peers. But meeting musicians, especially talented ones – not to mention legendary ones -- made him anxious. He knew talented musicians had something inside them he could neither touch nor completely comprehend.

If Elijah was nervous, Dom was a thousand times more so. Although he had become accustomed to meeting famous people over the last few years, there were still some who could make him feel like a star-struck fangirl, and he was about to meet the biggest of them all, second only to John Lennon himself in his personal hierarchy of music heroes.

As they followed the young PR woman down the hall backstage at the Shrine Auditorium, Dom glanced at Elijah. He looked self-possessed in a button-down shirt, tie, and leather jacket. Dom envied Elijah’s composure in situations like this. He knew Elijah was nervous too, but you would never have known to look at him.

David Bowie was an idol of Dom’s from childhood. He adored everything about him: his looks, his talent, his voice, his stage presence, his creativity, his fearlessness. As far as Dom was concerned, he was the consummate artist. Tonight’s concert had only confirmed that view. As he watched him on-stage, he could hardly believe he would be meeting him in the flesh afterwards. It was a dream come true. He could feel his pulse beating in his throat; all his thoughts had gathered to form a single, simple prayer that circled round and round in his mind: whatever you do, do not make a fool of yourself, Dominic Monaghan.

After walking what felt like miles, they finally stopped outside a closed door. “Wait here,” the woman said. Dom peered past her as she entered the room. Even though he was expecting it, he was almost surprised to catch a glimpse of Bowie, standing idly in the middle of the room, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He looked up when the young woman entered. A lit match in his hand was halfway to his mouth, but when he saw her, he shook it out, removed the cigarette, and placed it and the spent match on a table nearby.

“Time for meet-and-greets!” she announced cheerfully, and waved Dom and Elijah into the room.

The first thing that struck Dom when he finally got near him was that David Bowie looked exactly like David Bowie. He had expected him, in reality, to be somehow different: smaller, plainer, diminished.

But the man he saw before him was the very same man he had seen on-stage, the same man whose career he had admired and whose photographs he had studied all these years: the same thick blond hair, the same high cheekbones, and, yes, one eye was a different color than the other. The thought flashed through Dom’s mind that between Bowie and Elijah, he was standing at that moment with perhaps two of the most remarkable pairs of eyes known to man. And Bowie shared something else with Elijah: that glow that seemed to come from within. For once, Dom was speechless.

While Dom stood, awestruck, Elijah was already proffering his hand, “Elijah Wood. It’s so great to meet you! We really enjoyed your concert.” Bowie shook hands with both of them, smiling, and complimented them on their movie, “I loved it. I wanted to be in it, you know,” he said. Someone steered Elijah and Dom to either side of Bowie, a flashbulb exploded in Dom’s stunned face, and it was over. While Elijah posed for a few more pictures with other celebrities who had wandered in, Dom was ushered from the room.

On his way out, Dom furtively pocketed the cigarette Bowie had left on the table.

***

Dom waited in the parking lot for Elijah to join him. He leaned against the cool stucco building and examined the cigarette in his hand, staring at it as if it held the secret to life itself.

Five years ago, he had gone to London for one of his many auditions for “Lord of the Rings.” During the audition, he had heard that David Bowie was going to be there, too, trying out for the part of Celeborn. Dom had hung around the building for hours, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. All he had managed to see was his back as he disappeared into an office at the end of the hall.

Now here he was, five years later, holding Bowie's cigarette in his hand. Five amazing years.

Five years ago he had never been to New Zealand. He had never surfed. He had never even dreamed of living in Los Angeles. He had never been in a major motion picture. He hadn’t traveled the world attending premieres, hadn’t been to awards shows, hadn’t been a guest on talk shows, hadn’t been swamped by fans at conventions.

He shook his head. It was hard to believe how many gifts five years had brought him. Five years ago he hadn’t met Billy. He hadn’t met Viggo, or Orlando or PJ and Fran.

Five years ago, he hadn’t met Elijah. Five years ago, he had never been in love. He thought he had. But now he knew better.

Now he knew love in all its bittersweet fullness, in all its sacrifice, in all its pain. He knew love in its joy and its enthralling magic and excitement. He knew the companionship and fun and hope it had brought to his life.

But five years had brought losses, too. Five years ago, he had not had a list of failed auditions to haunt him. He had not had money worries, career worries. He had not had complicated contracts and business dealings. He had not been photographed by paparazzi and gossiped about. Five years ago, he had had no secrets to keep.

But now, tonight, on top of everything else, the good and the bad, he had gotten to meet Bowie. He was not spying, not skulking around the corners of a casting office, hoping to catch just a glimpse of him. Tonight he had met him proudly, face to face, had shaken his hand.

He had come a long way in five years.

Elijah appeared at his elbow and broke into his musings. “Can I have that?” he asked, reaching for the cigarette in Dom’s hand.

Dom pulled his hand back in alarm. “Jesus fuck, no! This is Bowie’s cigarette!”

“What?”

“Elijah,” Dom said, pulling himself to his full height. “In my hand I hold the one, the only, Mr. David Bowie’s very own, personal cigarette. I saw it in his mouth when we came into the room. He put it on the table, and I took it.”

Elijah looked at Dom in disbelief. “You took it?”

“Yeah.” Dom grinned. He could hardly believe it himself. “From his lips to my hands.”

“What the fuck are you going to do with it?”

Dom couldn’t believe what a stupid question that was. “Keep it, of course.”

“Jesus, Dom,” Elijah said, giving him an affectionate squeeze. “You’re insane.”

***

Dom put it in a box in his apartment. He looked at it a lot the first few days, then he was satisfied just to know it was there. On Academy Awards night, it suddenly occurred to him to take it out. It was going to be his lucky charm. He didn’t tell anyone he was carrying it in his pocket.

They swept! Of course, they deserved to win each and every award, but deep down inside, Dom suspected his lucky cigarette had had something to do with it.

***

Elijah kicked off his shoes and started pacing the room, working hard to un-knot his tie. Eleven fucking Oscars. They had known it would be a big night, but it had been beyond anything he had ever imagined: walking the Red Carpet with his best friends, watching Peter and Howard and Fran and Richard and everyone else having their moment of glory on stage. It was something they had all anticipated for so long, desired for so long, deserved for so long. And now it had happened, just as they had all hoped and dreamed it would. It almost didn’t seem real.

He took off his tie, dropped it to the floor, and started working on the buttons of his starched shirt.

Dinner at the Governor’s Ball, sitting next to Dom, thighs touching under the table. He grinned: just like the Senior Prom. Elijah had never been to high school, had never gone to college. Tonight had been like Senior Prom and college graduation all rolled into one. It was the culmination of so much hard work and sacrifice, but it was a beginning, too. The sadness and emotion of all the endings -- the last pick up shot, the last premiere, the last awards show – were fading and beginning to be replaced by excitement for the future: new work, new challenges, a new life.

The damn buttons were too tight in the small buttonholes for his painfully bitten-down fingernails. He had had to put a Band-aid on his thumb that evening, for Christ’s sake, in the limo, just before the Red Carpet.

Dom always carried Band-aids for Elijah in his pocket. At first it was a joke, “I am your plaster wallah, Sahib!” Dom would say in his best Bollywood accent. But soon Elijah had come to rely on Dom to provide him with Band-aids for his bleeding fingertips. Another Dom addiction. He had long ago realized he was as addicted to Dom as he was to cigarettes and nail biting. He was addicted to his smell, to the sound of his voice, to his jokes and his touch and his kisses. And now to the Band-aids that Dom always kept for him in his pockets.

Finally. Got the last button undone. Elijah tossed the shirt onto the floor and quickly pulled his t-shirt over his head, adding it to the pile. He started working on his belt and trousers.

They had had so much fun at the TORn party with the fans. It was so great to be released from the straightjacket of the Awards ceremony and all the official after-events, answering the same questions over and over, wearing their Professional-Elijah and Dom-Struggling-To-Be-Good personas hour after hour.

Then it had been such a thrill to bring the band out, his band, his discovery, to be able to introduce them to the world. The best part was that he had been able to do that not just for a great band, but for musicians who had become his friends.

His belt and trousers fell to the floor. His boxers followed. He bent over and started tugging at his socks.

Reviewing the evening in his mind, Elijah realized that the three minutes he had spent standing off-stage at the TORn party with a beer and a cigarette in one hand, watching Dom sing, admiring his beautiful body and wonderful voice, were three minutes of almost-perfect happiness.

Okay. All his clothes were off. Still pacing.

“I guess this means the strip tease is over,” Dom said.

Elijah glanced at Dom, already in bed. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, he was almost surprised to hear his voice. He hadn’t even realized Dom had been watching him undress.

“Jesus, I’m so buzzed from tonight. I can’t settle down,” Elijah complained.

“Come to bed, love; I’ll help you settle down.”

***

It was dark. It didn’t matter. Dom could see everything in his mind’s eye. With his eyes closed, he still knew every inch of the soft expanse of Elijah’s back down to the warm contours of his ass. He knew the exact distance from Elijah’s shoulder to his waist to his hip to his thigh to his cock. Yes, there it was, warm, hard, and heavy in his hand, a perfect fit. He wrapped his long fingers tightly around it and enjoyed the sensation of Elijah thrusting back, the thin soft skin rippling over the firm core.

Dom took a sharp breath when he felt Elijah’s hand inevitably enclose his own cock, felt the rough edge of the Band-aid on his thumb caressing his shaft up and down. They lay, side by side like that, working each other’s cocks, sharing sloppy wet kisses, exchanging incoherent mumbles, whispers, and sighs, falling into the weightless space of their love.

When Elijah pulled his mouth away from Dom’s to moan, Dom knew, even in the darkness, that the flush was spreading across Elijah’s white breast, up his neck, across his lovely face; he knew his lips were parted in a silent gasp as each wave of increasing pleasure washed over him. He knew his eyes were tightly closed, his lashes black against his flushed cheeks. He knew his face was taking on the strangely beautiful contortions of impending orgasm.

Dom buried his face into Elijah’s neck; when his own shout subsided, Elijah could feel the vibration of Dom’s muffled cry against his throat.

Elijah flopped onto his back and released a long, happy sigh. “Okay. Settling down now.”

“I told you I could help.” Dom said. He grabbed Elijah’s boxers off the floor and started cleaning Elijah up. Elijah let himself be ministered to, enjoying the feeling of the soft cotton being rubbed gently against the sensitive skin on his tummy.

“Oh, and Elijah?” Dom said as he worked.

“Mmmph?”

“Happy anniversary, love.”

“What?” A brief electric shock of panic broke through Elijah’s post-coital haze. It wasn’t their anniversary. Was it? His eyes flew open and he squinted, trying to see Dom in the dark.

Dom smiled. “That was the one thousandth time we’ve made love,” he announced.

Elijah paused, not knowing what to say. Then he said the obvious: “You’ve counted?”

“Yeah. Sure. Doesn’t everyone?”

“Uh. No.”

But of course, Dom would count, Elijah thought. Dom was uncontrollably sentimental. He collected anniversaries: the day they met, their first date, their first kiss, the first time they made love. He collected things too, like a crow collecting shiny objects for his nest: rocks and bits of string and t-shirts and jewelry, each with its own special significance. Even David Bowie’s cigarette. It made perfect sense that he would keep a count of every time they had sex.

“I wish you had told me this was number 1,000; I would have made it extra special for you.” Elijah smiled to himself, thinking of all the things Dom especially liked that he could have done.

“Naw, this was perfect, baby. It was extra special.”

“Oh? How so?”

Dom leaned in to give Elijah a soft kiss. “Because it was with you,” he murmured into his lips.

Elijah tucked himself into Dom, and rested his head on his shoulder. They cuddled for a moment, getting comfortable.

“Speaking of your habit of counting and collecting things,” Elijah said, “That reminds me. I heard a funny story tonight.”

“What’s that?”

“I heard that one of your many fangirls paid the security guard at the TORn party to give her the glass that you were drinking from.”

“My glass?” Dom said, trying to remember. “The one with the cranberry juice in it?”

“Yup.” Elijah laughed. “Sounds like something you would do, huh? But she went you one further. She drank the rest of your juice out of it.”

“No way!” Dom was not sure if he was delighted or disgusted.

“Way!”

“She must have been thirsty,” Dom rationalized.

“She must have been crazy,” Elijah laughed.

“Well, thirsty or crazy, she’s full of my germs now.”

“Yeah, lucky for her you don’t have a cold.”

“Nope, I'm healthy as a horse – hung like one too, I might add.”

“If you say so,” Elijah said dryly. “Anyway, the only thing she’s going to catch from you is The Sexy.”

Dom laughed. “You can’t catch The Sexy, Lij.”

“You can’t? Well, I did. I’m much sexier now since I met you. In fact, I’m going to start drinking out of your glass whenever I can so I can get more sexy.”

“Lij, if you got any sexier, I would spontaneously combust.”

They lapsed into silence. Elijah was just beginning to drift off when Dom spoke. “Elijah? Why would someone do that?” He was truly at a loss. It was obvious to him why he would collect souvenirs that reminded him of people and events he wanted to remember. But he could not understand why someone would collect something of his, want to finish his drink.

Elijah thought about it for a moment. “Maybe there’s something about you she wanted inside herself. Something good; something she admires.”

 

***

Elijah’s breathing slowed and, finally, took on the smooth rhythm of sleep. But Dom lay awake, the events of the day continuing to cycle through his mind. Gains and losses. Endings and beginnings.

The sun was beginning to rise, and Dom could just see the outline of his jacket slung over the chair next to the bed. His lucky cigarette was still in the pocket. He thought about his meeting with Bowie a few weeks earlier, about what a thrill it had been, about how much he admired Bowie: his talent, his innovativeness. But most of all, he admired him as a person who had been true to himself his entire life. Dom wished he could live his life half as honestly. Then he thought about the lady who had finished his juice.

Dom threw the covers aside and got up.

“Where are you going?” Elijah mumbled in his sleep.

Dom gave Elijah a soft kiss on the forehead. “To have a smoke.”


End file.
